


Shots? Shots

by savingophelia (briennesbeauty)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Drunk Emma, F/F, I fix season four through humour and unexpected sadness, One Shot, bed sharing, drunk regina, emma is a ridiculous drunk, lots of stupid giggling, nobody has any brain cells, our girls being the dumb bitches they were always meant to be, regina wants to be a moody drunk but she’s a whiny crybaby drunk and emma’s not helping, slight robin and hook bashing but it’s not my fault our girls are drunk and think it’s funny, this is supposed to be funny ok leave me alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28035606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briennesbeauty/pseuds/savingophelia
Summary: Continuation of season four’s infamous drinking scene, because we were utterlyrobbed.(That’s how it started anyway. Now it’s become a drunk/bed sharing/lowkey hurt/comfort fic.)
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 88





	Shots? Shots

**Author's Note:**

> this is my ridiculous take on what could have happened if they’d never been interrupted and got absolutely hammered together. it turned into a bed sharing fic because it wanted to, not because i wanted it to. 
> 
> also i’m aware they’re maybe not as in love at this point in canon as they quite clearly are in this fic but that’s because i don’t care and i can do what i want

When Emma Swan comes and sits down beside her in the diner, Regina’s not sure if she feels angry or comforted. She’s been slumped at the counter for a while, nursing a disgusting cup of coffee – now cold – and letting herself wallow. Which she has every right to. She just watched her _soulmate_ walk away from her world forever, with his _wife and son_ at his side. She ignores the saviour for a second, but she can _feel_ the other woman fidgeting, gearing up to say something. 

“I’m not in the mood for a hope speech, Emma.” Regina tells her, leaning her head into her hand. 

“You’re mistaking me for my mother. Besides, you don’t need a speech, you need a drinking buddy.” Emma’s precise, and her face leaves no room for argument. “Shots?”

It’s not what Regina was expecting, but she thinks she’s actually... not mad about it. Something light lifts in her stomach and she finds herself agreeing. “Sure. Why not?”

“Two.” Emma orders promptly.

While they wait for the waitress to pour them out, Regina sits and fidgets quietly with her half-empty coffee cup, clinking against it’s saucer on the counter. She can feel Emma close beside her, winding up to speak again. For some reason, she waits patiently for her to find her words. 

“You know you did the right thing today.”

“There it is, a hope speech!” Regina objects, and Emma sighs almost inaudibly. “I thought we were drinking.”

“It’s not a speech, it’s a compliment.” Emma says, with a hint of something in her voice that’s a little too nice for Regina’s current mood. 

“I don’t need your validation; I know I did the right thing.” Regina remarks, a tug of thorny defensiveness in her chest. “I know because I’m miserable. Again.” 

Emma pauses a second, and Regina stares down at the counter. But instead of rising to the bait, the saviour just looks at her with something unreadable on her face and says, “If it makes you feel any better... so’s Gold.”

Regina stares at her. “It does.” 

There’s the slightest hint of a smile behind Emma’s green eyes as they clink their shot glasses together and throw them back at the same time. 

“Ugh,” Emma makes a face, sliding her empty glass along the counter. “That was stronger than I thought it was gonna be.”

Regina lifts one dark brow, slightly. “Clearly, you’ve never tried Granny’s long island iced tea.” 

"Maybe I need to," Emma says, only half joking. Her green eyes catch Regina's.

And that's how it starts. 

It ends much, much later, when the big windows are foggy and the street outside the glass is just darkness, speckled here and there by the odd glow of a streetlamp or a car on its way home. There are a _lot_ of empty glasses – tiny shot glasses and full sized ones, in particular martini glasses in front of Regina and some empty pints in front of Emma – waiting on the sticky counter. 

All that’s left of what’s been a mammoth night of drinks is a few dried-up curls of lime, some melting ice, two remaining shots, and a spill of salt all over the floor from when Emma thought it’d be fun to do some tequila shots. (It wasn’t. She dropped the salt everywhere, and Regina was a huge baby about not liking them. _What is wrong with this world and its ridiculous drinking rituals?_ She’d complained loudly, and Emma had laughed so hard she nearly slid off her stool.)

Emma’s pretty sure at some point, Ruby just started sliding over shots because she thought it’d be funny (the other waitress’ shift finished a while ago, and she shot the mayor and the sheriff a _very_ pointed glare before she left). But hey, Emma doesn’t care. If she didn’t order them, she’s not paying for them, and they’re going down great, although the edges of the room are slightly blurry, and her cheeks kind of ache from the inane grin she literally cannot drop. 

“Shots!” Emma shouts happily, discovering the last two amid the maze of empty glasses. She throws one back, wincing slightly at the burn in her throat, and slides the second one over to Regina. “Go.”

The brunette’s nose scrunches adorably, her mouth pushed into a pout. “I don’t think I should do any more.” She’s leaning half on the counter, her cheek in her hand, the elbow of her soft purple sweater flecked with tiny grains of salt. Her big brown eyes are slightly hazy and unfocused, but somehow, her lipstick has remained perfect. 

“Come on, don’t be boring,” Emma whines, nudging the tiny glass closer to her. “It’s just one more. Just one tiny little shot.”

Regina makes a loud, whiny noise that she doesn’t even look capable of producing. It makes Emma snort with laughter, and then cheer with triumph as the mayor picks up the last shot and throws it back, grimacing at the taste. 

“Um, we’re closing.” Ruby informs them lightly, appearing once again at the bar to collect a handful of their empties. A smile is on her lips, though her eyebrows raise. “Which I have told you about four times in the last half hour.”

“That sucks!” Emma complains. “Fuck you, Ruby.” 

“You know what, I’m good.” Ruby deposits the empty glasses on a tray, then spins back for the rest. “You’ve got like, ten minutes to finish those drinks and get out of here. I’ve been on shift since nine thirty, and I want to go home.”

“Aw,” Emma whines, watching Ruby carry the empties back through to the kitchen. She drums her fingers on the counter and immediately regrets it – it’s kind of sticky, and now the salt’s stuck to her hands. “This sucks. Hey! You wanna go to an actual bar? It’s not that late. What’s that place – The Rabbit Hole?”

“ _Emmaaaaaa_ ,” Regina pouts, her brows drawing into a frown. “No. I need to go home. I have… work… And Henry…”

“Henry’s with my mom!” Emma reminds her cheerfully, before chugging the rest of her drink. Grinning at the sudden rush to her head, she slams her now-empty glass down on the counter. The ice clinks. 

“ _Ugh_ ,” Regina groans dramatically again, sending Emma off into another bought of giggles. 

When she eventually gets herself back under control, she takes a deep breath, heaves herself upright and claps a hand on Regina’s shoulder. “Okay. If you need to go home, let’s get you home.”

Regina shoots her a puzzled stare, which would be a lot more intimidating if her eyes weren’t so glazed over. “I can get home by myself.”

“No!” Emma holds up a finger, shushing her when she protests again. She pushes herself to her feet, stumbling slightly as she gets off the bar stool, but ultimately managing okay. “I am the saviour, I am being shiv - chivalrous, I am taking you home.”

Regina scowls, looking as thoroughly unimpressed as a woman currently struggling to stand up can. “I’m the Evil Queen,” She reminds her, mumbling slightly. 

“No!” Emma objects again, loudly. “ _Were_ the Evil Queen! You _were_. Now you’re not! Now you’re Regina and I’m the saviour and I have to take you home.” She slurs her words slightly, but she’s pretty proud of herself. She holds out a hand, eager to get going, for some reason. “Come on!”

Still pouting, the brunette reaches out and grabs Emma’s hand in her warm one, pulling herself up uncertainly. She’s teetering slightly in her heeled boots, so Emma grips her hand even harder, carefully drawing her closer. She nearly puts an arm around her shoulders and holds her super close, but for some reason she doesn’t. She thinks that’s a bad idea, even though she really, _really_ wants to.

She wants to go outside! 

“Come on!” Emma insists, tugging her hand and leading her through the maze of empty chairs and tables. The bell over the door chimes as they swing out into the brisk night air. It’s refreshingly cool against her flushed skin, a chilly breeze winding through her hair. All the lights of the storefronts and streetlamps are glowing, hazy, against the dark sky. She closes her eyes and breathes in, still holding Regina’s hand. It’s small and soft and warm and she thinks it’s the longest she’s ever held it for, to date. She grins, eyes still closed. 

“Emma,” Regina whines, squeezing her hand slightly. 

It feels like electricity sparking down her spine. Emma’s eyes fly open and she turns to the other woman, who is still reeling on the doorstep of Granny’s, blinking slightly in the darkness. The fairy lights strung across the outdoor seating area are on, and the golden light glows and shines in Regina’s dark hair. 

“Oh my god,” Emma breathes, gaping. “You’re _so pretty_.” 

Regina looks at her sharply, and though her face is still dazed with drink, her brown eyes are wide and shining. Suddenly the poutiness and meanness is gone from her; there’s something open and vulnerable in her delicate features. She blinks, and it’s hard to believe this is the same woman who she once _hated_. “What?”

Emma shakes her head, the lights all around blurring slightly. “You’re _so_ pretty, Regina.” She knows she’s gaping; she just can’t seem to shut her mouth. “You’re always so pretty, but I just don’t understand how you’re so pretty! Ugh!” She can’t help giggling slightly, nervous energy twisting her insides. She feels like she probably shouldn’t be saying this; this is the kind of thing she tells herself off for even _thinking_ when she’s sober. “Seriously, who looks like that? Why do you look like that?”

Luckily for her, Regina is far from sober, too. Instead of being bitchy or weird about it, a funny smile breaks over her full lips and she almost tries to cover her mouth with her free hand to hide it. She’s still holding onto Emma with the other, but she turns away, staring at the ground under her boots and the lights behind her. “Emma,” She says. “Don’t.”

“Why not!” Emma whines, almost shouting. Every time she wants to be nice to Regina or stay with Regina or talk to Regina one of them puts an awkward stop to it, and she’s _sick of it_. Why do they do that? 

Suddenly, she whirls on her heels – almost losing her balance but not quite – and tugging Regina’s hand, trying to get her to spin around and look at her. When she does, she looks up at her with her dark eyes wide, the faintest pink flush in her cheeks, the breeze riffling strands of dark hair across her face. She is so pretty, it’s true; the prettiest thing Emma has ever seen. 

“You are BEAUTIFUL,” Emma tells her loudly, gesturing wildly with her free hand to make her point. She charges on before Regina can interrupt. “You are so fucking cool. You’re so fucking _amazing_! You’re like, this badass boss bitch lady. You can do magic better than anyone in the world! Except maybe Rumple! But who cares about him! We moved the _moon_ together, Regina. You remember that? I do. Felt fuckin’ great. _You did that!_ You’ve done so many incredible things, you’re a _hero_. And not ‘cause of some curse either, you’re a hero because you chose to be, and you worked hard at it.” 

She shoots a finger at her. “You are the best mom in the whole world. And the thing is, you’re so cool but you’re so like – you act all tough and sexy and like you could kill anyone you wanted, but Henry says you always cry when you watch _The Princess Bride. The Princess Bride!_ And you like horses and babies and you never kill spiders, and you – you love with your _whole heart_. You’re a better cook than – Nigella? And you’re SO BEAUTIFUL!”

“And if Robin doesn’t want you then he’s a fucking idiot!” Emma yells, gesturing wildly behind her. Regina tries to speak but she’s not having any of it – the wind is sharp on her cheeks and she’s making a _point_. “He is! He’s a fucking idiot! You’d have to be brain dead not to want you!”

Regina’s looking up at her with her dark eyes full of reflected light, her hair whispering across her face in the wind. She opens her mouth to try and speak again, but Emma’s not done. 

“And he smells like pinecones anyway!” She yells, swinging their joined hands hard before remembering she has to use the other one if she wants to gesture like that. “He lives in a tent, Regina, he was never good enough for you! No one’s good enough for you!” 

“Emma –” Regina manages, in a very small voice, and Emma suddenly stops shouting, realising that her eyes are shining like that because she’s nearly _crying_. “Emma, stop it.”

“Oh no –” Emma panics and drops her hand suddenly, wiping her own on the front of her jeans, because it’s gross and sweaty. She wants to reach out and do something, but she’s always been crap at this. “No, Regina, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you –”

“You didn’t upset me!” Regina insists, crying. She swings herself away from Emma, her arms folded tight across her chest. 

She’s even pretty when she _cries. For fuck’s sake_. 

“No, I did, I’m sorry.” Emma tries to think back on everything she just said, but it was all kind of in the moment and her head is pounding and the edges of the street are a bit blurry and she can’t really remember. “Was it ‘cause I called Robin braindead?” She tries to make her voice soft and comforting, but she’s not sure it’s working. “’Cause, like… he is. But – no – I didn’t mean it –”

“No!” Regina shakes her head, her voice thick with tears. She squeezes her arms around herself. “It’s not that. It’s not – shut up, Emma!” 

“Okay.” Emma holds her palms up, shrugging. “I’ve shut up. I won’t talk about him anymore. Unless you want to, in which case, I’m here for you. ‘cause I’m the saviour. And your friend.”

Regina sniffles, lifting her head and blinking back tears. A shaky smile appears on her lips and lights Emma’s insides up. “My friend.” She repeats. 

“Yes!” Emma grins, glad they’re still okay. “I’m your friend! _Regina._ I’m your friend! And I’m gonna take you home because you’re too drunk –”

“ _You’re_ too drunk!” Regina shoots back, but she grabs Emma’s offered hand anyway and together they manage to descend the steps and onto the street. Holding hands, occasionally stumbling, they make their way down the path, under the glow of the streetlights and the distant stars. “I should just poof us back.” 

“Don’t drink and poof.” Emma mutters, laughing to herself at how witty she is. 

Regina makes a small hum of agreement, and promptly trips over a soda can. Emma saves her, grabbing her hand and her elbow and steadying her. “I’d probably poof us into the sea by accident.”

“Oh my god, we should do that!” Emma thinks that would be kind of awesome! How come she’s lived here for so long and never even been in the sea? And she’s so warm, all that cold water would be kind of nice. And Regina would be there, maybe in a bikini. Yeah! They should definitely do that. “We should go swimming!”

“No!” Regina whines and yanks her along when she tries to stand still under a streetlamp. “I want to go to bed.”

Emma follows. As much as swimming would be fun right now, she also wants to go to bed. 

“I wanna go to bed,” Emma says, making sure Regina knows. And then, mumbling to herself; “Iwannagotobedwithyou.”

“What?” Regina turns at her, her pretty face scrunched in confusion. 

“Nothing!” Emma sings, heat rising to her face. God, she is too drunk for this. “Let’s get you home!”

She’s really not sure how the fuck they manage to get home – they’re both so out of it. But somehow, they do. She doesn’t remember walking there, really, but the next thing she knows they’re standing on the mayor’s porch, in the yellow glow of the garden lights. Regina stands on the garden path frowning as she fumbles in her handbag for her keys. 

When she eventually finds them, she just stares at them in her hand for a second, apparently forgetting what they’re for. Then she looks back up at Emma as if she’s realised something profound. “This is where we met.”

“Uh huh,” Emma nods. Heat prickles up the back of her neck. “I remember.”

Regina’s perfect dark brows draw together for a split second. Then she smooths her brow and lifts her chin to look up at Emma, her full lips slightly parted. That gorgeous pink is in her cheeks again as she lifts a finger and asks, lightly, (somewhat suspiciously), “Why did you walk me home?”

“Because you’re drunk!” Emma says, taking a step closer to her. “And it’s dark and there’s always some stupid monster popping up here somehow. I didn’t want you to go alone. I’m the saviour. It’s my job to keep you safe.”

“No, idiot.” Regina shakes her head. “It was your job to try and kill me. Because you’re the saviour and I was the Evil Queen.” She pouts down at her shoes for a second. “Now I don’t know what your job is.”

“ _Noooo,_ ” Emma steps forward again and slides her hands against the sides of Regina’s waist. She can’t help it – her hands are moving without her permission. _Bad hands. Naughty._ They stay there though, feeling the warmth of the brunette’s body through her soft, soft sweater. “It’s my job to keep you safe. Now and for – ever.”

“That’s not a job.” Regina insists under her breath, and shakes her head. She doesn’t say anything about Emma’s hands on her waist, and she hasn’t tried to fireball her either, so she guesses it’s not bad after all. In fact, her warm hands gently come up to rest on Emma’s forearms, light as feathers. 

“Is too.” Emma argues. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, ever.”

“You brought Marian back.” Regina reminds her, but she doesn’t look mad. She’s pouting slightly again, and swaying a little on her feet, but her dark sparkling eyes find Emma’s easily. 

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Emma whispers. “I didn’t know. I never meant to – I wouldn’t ever want to hurt you. I want you to be happy. And anyway. I told you before. Robin’s a stupid fucking idiot.”

Despite herself, a smile breaks over Regina’s face and she has to look away, trying to suppress the cutest and most un-Regina-like laugh Emma’s ever heard. 

“Yeah!” Emma grins, her heart soaring, wanting to keep that laugh going. It’s the best thing she’s ever heard. “And he’s not even that good looking! Great, you have a beard and a British accent, so what?” 

Regina’s really laughing now – giggling, actually – turning her head away from Emma and biting her lower lip. She’s so beautiful, and that sound is so pure and good. When she gets herself under (some) control, her dark eyes flicker up to meet Emma’s. “Your stupid idiot has a beard and a British accent.”

“ _Ugh!_ ” Emma groans so loudly it echoes down the street. “Don’t fucking remind me.”

Regina bursts into another fit of giggles, real giggles this time, loud and bubbling. Still beaming, she retorts, “He’s worse than Robin!”

“No!” Emma protests, scowling, though a laugh is rising hysterically in her chest. “Maybe. Ugh, I don’t know. He is really gross, isn’t he?” 

“Yes,” Regina nods emphatically, laughing, her sparkling brown eyes lit up. 

“Gross. _Ugh_. Why did I have to think about him?” 

“What are you doing with him?” Regina retorts.

“I don’t know!” Emma groans loudly, laughing to herself again as she shakes her head wildly. It is funny now, here, now she’s drunk in Regina’s garden, away from it all. “It just kind of happened and now it’s gone on too long and it’s _awkward_. But he’s _so gross_. He’s just _stupid_ and he does wear too much eyeliner and he smells of rum all the fucking time –”

Regina giggles again, hiccupping slightly. “You smell of rum,” She tells her lightly, poking her in the shoulder.

“Hey!” Emma bats her hand away. “I’m allowed! I am shiver – chivalrously drunk because I had to get drunk to cheer you up.”

“No you didn’t!” Regina retorts, but Emma nods valiantly. 

“I did, and it worked!” Emma grabs her by the waist again, maybe a little too enthusiastically this time – Regina ends up nose to nose with her, almost. The brunette is shorter than her though, just a little. If Emma tilted her head down now, they’d be kissing.

_Nope, fuck, don’t think that_. 

“Did it work?” Emma asks, trying to be quiet now they’re so close. She’s mindful of her breath in Regina’s face, not wanting it to be like Hook’s. “Are you cheered up?”  


Regina rolls her eyes, but her hands are resting on Emma’s arms again, and when she eventually comes to meet her gaze, the prettiest, tiniest smile is tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe.”

“Good.” Emma smiles in time with her, unable to stop it. Warmth spills all through her stomach – different to the flush of alcohol in her system and prickling her skin – heavy, golden warmth that makes her cheeks almost ache from smiling. The world is still kind of blurry and spun out, but Regina’s close enough Emma can see every one of her curling black lashes and the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. 

“Why did you do that?” Regina asks suddenly, her perfect dark brows creasing, her eyes searching Emma’s. She slurs her words, but she knows what she’s saying, she’s sure. 

Panic thrills through Emma’s system, makes her breath short. Her fingers twitch on the sides of Regina’s sweater. “Do what?”

Regina’s hands are still on her arms, but a strange look has crossed her hazy face. “Everything.” She says, and she looks down at the path under their feet. Her cheeks are flushed slightly pink. “Get drunk with me. Save me all the time. Check in on me.” 

“Because!” Emma wants to scream or shake her. “Ugh! Have you not been listening to anything I’ve said? You’re fucking great. And you deserve it. And I hate that you don’t think you do! _Oh my god_ , are you really gonna make me say it?”

Regina just looks at her. 

“Maybe I just can’t stand the thought of you in pain! Or upset. Or… I don’t know.” Emma swallows around the lump that has suddenly appeared in her throat. She shrugs, kicking at the pavement. “You’re Henry’s mom. But – even if you weren’t – I… I care about you a lot.”

Regina’s avoiding her eye again, though she’s still gripping her arms like something bad will happen if she lets go. “Emma…” She says, and her cheeks glow pink again. For a moment Emma – dazed and thoughtless – leans in closer, watching the rise and fall of Regina’s chest as she breathes, the play of the shadows of the porch on her beautiful, tired face. The brunette seems poised, gathering herself. Emma waits with her breath held, watching her like a hawk, waiting for – for – 

Out of nowhere, Regina jerks upright. “Oh!” She says. “How are you going to get home?”

“Um, walk?” Emma feels kind of stupid. Maybe it’s a trick question? Her heart’s sunk, a bit. Even in the state she’s in, she knows that’s a bit of an anti-climax. 

“No!” Regina exclaims, shaking her head emphatically. “Absolutely not!”

“What?” Emma is really confused now. 

“No, you don’t get to walk me home and act like it’s all dangerous to go by myself in the dark when I’m drunk like I’m some stupid damsel in distress and then just go back yourself!” Regina retorts, her dark eyes flashing indignance. “That’s not fair!”

Emma shrugs and flashes a grin. “I’m the saviour.”

“You need to stop saying that like it’s a personality trait.” Regina shoots her a look that is way too scathing for a woman who can barely stand upright.

“Hey!”

“Anyway, Saviour or not – you’re too drunk to get home by yourself.” Regina says decisively, despite her stumbling over her words, and folds her arms over her chest. 

“I’m not that drunk!” Emma argues, tripping backwards into the flowerbed. 

Regina’s dark eyes find hers just as she manages to get her balance, and for a moment she just looks at her, the silence taut, before they both burst out laughing. 

“Come on,” Regina says, through the most ridiculous and uncharacteristic giggles that make Emma’s heart all warm and fuzzy. Without warning, she seizes Emma’s hand and tugs her down the garden path. She struggles for quite a while with the key in the lock, making a right racket, but Emma doesn’t mind. She just stands there with the night breeze cooling her flushed cheeks and carrying the sweet scent of the flowers she just fell on.

“Come on!” Regina repeats, as she finally manages to get the door open. Emma follows her into the foyer, greeted by a wash of warmth, blinking slightly in the sudden light. The door slams behind her and makes Regina jump. The brunette tries to drop her keys onto an end table, but somehow her aim is off and they jangle loudly as they hit hardwood floor.

“Be quiet,” Emma laughs, trying to _shh_ her. “Shh!” 

“I am _shh_ ing!” Regina shoots her a look that’s more whiny and pouty than she probably meant it to be. “You _shh!_ ” 

That makes Emma laugh even more, until she realises Regina is heading over the stairway, swaying dangerously side to side as she walks. 

“What is happening?” Emma is suddenly confused. Why is she still in Regina’s house? She’s not complaining. It’s nice and warm, and she’s always kind of liked the décor in here and how she can just imagine a tiny Henry barrelling around the big hallways and lying on the floor. 

Regina twists around, steadying herself on the bannister before she stumbles again. For a second she frowns, blinking down at her hands on the wood. Then, apparently, she remembers. Her dark eyes find Emma decisively. “We’re home!” A smile lights up her face. “We got here!”

Emma is still confused. “What?”

Regina huffs dramatically and then gestures at Emma, one hand still holding onto the bannister for dear life. “I was too drunk to get home by myself, you walked with me. Now you’re too drunk to get home by _yourself_ so you can stay here.” 

“Oh,” Emma says, the warmth inside her chest spreading through her like spilled oil, reaching all the way to her fingertips and making her grin, even though that tiny, rational voice in her head – the annoying one that makes Sober Emma so boring – tells her this is a bad idea. How could it be a bad idea? It’s so warm here, and the air smells vaguely of Regina, and of the way Henry’s hair smells when she hugs him sometimes. She doesn’t want to go back out in the cold. “That makes sense. Thank you!”

“I always make sense,” Regina announces, beginning to climb the stairs with what looks like enormous effort. “I’m the queen.”

Emma can’t help laughing then as she follows Regina up the stairs, hands hovering a few inches away from the unsteady queen’s back, just in case she falls. Miraculously, they both get to the top of the stairs ok, and Emma follows Regina down the hall to a room at the end, which Emma has never been in before.  
Regina slips through the door quietly and Emma shuts it very softly behind them, without really thinking about what she’s doing. This must be Regina’s _bedroom_ , Emma realises, as she turns around. She doesn’t know why, but that makes her want to laugh some more, even as heat prickles up the back of her neck and she feels her mouth drop open. 

It’s pretty, of course, like everything to do with Regina. Wide and airy with long flowy curtains and a walk-in wardrobe and a framed photo of what looks like Henry as a smiling, sticky-faced toddler on the nightstand, beside some books and a pair of glasses. _Glasses!_ Emma grins. She really hopes she remembers that when she’s sober. 

_I’m in Regina Mills’ bedroom_ , she thinks stupidly, and covers her mouth to muffle a snort.

The bed is big and neatly made – of fucking _course_ – and Regina is currently sat on the end of it, looking close to tears as she tries to tug off one of her boots. Her brow is furrowed deeply and she’s huffing, struggling quite aggressively with the zip or the heel or something. She looks up suddenly, catching Emma with her hand over her mouth. 

“It’s not funny!” Regina’s snaps, dark brows creasing. Her brown eyes are huge and shining, and now Emma kind of feels bad. She huffs with frustration as she tugs again at the zip. “They really _hurt!_ ”

“Hey,” Emma’s suddenly on her knees at the bottom of the bed, reaching up to take Regina’s ankle in her hands. The brunette sits and watches her, frowning, but lets her. “It’s okay.” She has to blink a few times to get the zip to come into focus, but when it does she realises the issue – the zip’s caught a little in the leather, but that’s about it. With a bit of (gentle) wiggling, she manages to get it undone. “There we go.” 

Unzipped, she slips the thing off of Regina’s foot and then glares, slightly horrified, at the size of the heel on them. “God, no wonder they hurt. How’d you even walk in these things?” Emma drops it on the floor, quickly shifting to unzip the other and tug it off. She lets it fall, careless. _Dumb things hurt Regina’s feet._

Regina is still sat there pouting, looking blankly at Emma and swinging her foot. She’s wearing black socks. 

“Oh my god!” Emma notices suddenly, another mad bought of laughter bubbling up in her stomach. “Your feet are _tiny_. Wait a minute –” She glances over her shoulder at where the evil boots lay, crumpled on the floor. “Regina, stand up. How tall are you?”

Emma climbs – with some difficulty – to her feet and grabs the brunette’s hands, helping her hop off the bed and onto her feet. Regina wobbles slightly, holding on tight to Emma. Standing there in just her socks, the top of her head comes up to about Emma’s chin. 

Emma bursts out laughing. She can’t help it. Everything is funny tonight, and this is the funniest revelation of all. 

“Don’t laugh at me!” Regina complains, smacking Emma (quite violently) on the arm. Her dark brows crease in a scowl, but there’s a faint pink flush in her cheeks still that makes her look less than threatening. (That, and her _height_.)

“Regina, you’re tiny.”

“Stop looking at me like that!” Regina smacks her again, and then suddenly grabs both her hands to stop herself from overbalancing. Her skin is warm, and soft. She looks up at Emma with her sad, pretty dark eyes and says, with _great_ anguish, “See! This is why I have to wear them all the time! Nobody would be scared of me if I looked like this!” 

_Nobody’s scared of you anyway, you dork_ , Emma thinks, but she takes a deep breath, tries to compose herself, and nods seriously. “I get it. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“I do.” Regina nods melancholically, and then suddenly seems to perk up again. “And I like them! They make me feel powerful! _This_ is not powerful.” 

She gestures down at herself, and Emma has to disagree. She is tiny, she is pink-cheeked and dizzy with drink, standing there in her socks and her salty sweater, with one stray curl of dark hair falling in her face, and she is so cute and so powerful. Somehow though, she doesn’t think Regina will see it like that, so she doesn’t say anything.

“…and when I walk into my office they click on the floor and it sounds really good…” Regina is still talking about her stupid shoes, her dark eyes fixed on some invisible point, her voice slow and ever so slightly slurred. Emma has no idea what she’s saying, but nods along, delighted.

“So.” Regina concludes, with a sharp nod that – Emma can see from the way she blinks slowly afterwards – makes her dizzy. Slightly disoriented, she fixes her gaze on Emma (now she has to look up to do this, and Emma is struck, not for the first time, by how long and nice her eyelashes are). 

“So…?” 

“So!” Regina repeats, as if her meaning should have been obvious the first time. For a moment, a grin teases at the corners of her mouth, where her lipstick is finally starting to fade, and Emma thinks she’s going to start laughing. She manages to pull it together. “I’m tired. And I think we both need to get some sleep…”

“Okay,” Emma says, just looking at her face, still not getting it. 

“Goodnight, Miss Swan,” Regina mumbles, and then tries to push past her to the door. 

Emma turns after her, still holding one of her hands. “Where are you going?”

“To the couch.” Regina looks at her like she’s an idiot. “The guest bed isn’t made up and I can’t do sheets now…”

“Can’t you just poof the sheets?” Emma says, continuing to not let go of her hand. Her soft, warm, tiny hand. (It’s so nice to hold her hand. She’s thought that every time they’ve done it, even if all those times were like, life-threatening situations and she told herself off for it immediately. It’s nice to hold a woman’s hand, so different to Killian’s which is too dry and big and gross.) 

“Don’t drink and poof!” Regina reminds her, and almost goes off giggling again. “I’d probably put the sheets on the curtains, or the curtains on the…”

_Regina_ giggling is still so ridiculous – even after hearing it all night – that it sets Emma off laughing again too, until she realises what is actually going on. 

“No!” She exclaims. “I’ll take the couch, though. It’s my fault you’re too drunk to poof…”

“No!” Regina insists. “You’re the guest, you should have the bed.” 

“Nooo!” Emma shakes her head. “It’s your bed! I’m not gonna turf you out! That’s not very saviour-y. Plus, I’m used to sleeping on couches. Hell, couches are a luxury compared to like, sleeping bags and doorways and shit. You’re a queen, you need your bed.”

“Emma,” Regina says, in a very small voice. For a moment, her gaze turns downward to their joined hands. Her fingers curl tighter around Emma’s and she shifts her socked feet on the carpet. “Did you really used to sleep in a doorway?”

“Not for, like, long.” Emma shrugs. Then she squeeze’s Regina’s hand and tries to get her to look her in the eye. “Aw, Regina, don’t be sad again. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I’m not sad!” Regina shouts, sadly. Then she looks at Emma and drops her hand abruptly. “Just get in the bed!”

“You get in the bed!” Emma shouts. 

_Wait._

Now her heart is pounding, her face flushing slightly as she has a terrible, very bad, naughty, no-good thought that Sober Emma would definitely tell her off for. _Good job that boring bitch isn’t here!_

“Okay, why don’t we both just go in the bed?” She suggests, and stares, waiting for Regina’s answer as her mouth goes suddenly dry. 

“Oh,” Regina looks at her with wide eyes and pink cheeks, her lips slightly parted. Then she takes a sharp breath and nods. “Alright.”

A breathless grin comes across Emma’s face. “Okay!”

For a few moments, they just stand there in the middle of Regina’s bedroom, staring blankly at each other. Neither of them are quite sure what they’re supposed to do next. Obviously, go to bed, Emma thinks. But even in her alcohol-fogged stupor, she knows this is awkward.

“Pyjamas,” Regina says.

“Pyjamas.” Emma agrees, although it takes her a few moments to remember what that word means. “Pyjamas?”

“Do you want some?” 

“Oh!” Emma is suddenly burning hot again. She swallows and tugs awkwardly at the neck of her sweater. “Um.” She doesn’t know what’s worse, going to sleep in her uncomfortable clothes, or getting into Regina’s bed wearing Regina’s pyjamas… Oh god, she’s going to be _so_ mad about this when she gets sober. “I can just sleep in my t-shirt…”

“Are you sure?” Regina asks, and she’s staring up at Emma with a strange look on her face.

“Yeah,” Emma says, and suddenly flushing with heat, turns quickly and stalks around to the other side of the bed. She tugs her jacket off and tosses it to the floor, then collapses with a huff onto the mattress. “Oh my god. Oh my god Regina, your bed is so comfy.” She flops down onto the pillow and starts kicking her shoes off. They land on the carpet with a thump. “Hey, Regina? I said your bed is _so comfy_ …” 

Emma heaves herself up onto her elbows and twists round to glance at Regina, annoyed she’s not replying. In her hazy brain, she’s considering throwing a pillow at her – but then she stops short, her breath in her throat. 

Because suddenly, Regina is taking her clothes off. 

Emma really, really should look away. If she doesn’t look away she’s going to see things she will never be able to unsee (or probably stop thinking about) and that will really ruin everything. Still, she sits there, apparently frozen to the spot while Regina strips off her sweater. And she still sits there, staring at how her dark hair flops in her face and how she stretches her elegant neck and she still sits there and if she doesn’t turn around soon she’s about to see her – friend? Co-parent? Former enemy? Mayor? – topless. 

Regina seems utterly unaware that she’s about to ruin all other human bodies for Emma, humming happily to herself – and nearly stumbling – as she tugs her blouse over her head. 

Emma jerks her head away as if scalded, but not before getting a _glimpse_ of black lace and soft golden skin and – no, no, no, no, no, no, _no. Bad Emma. Bad_. Regina’s humming her little tune still and Emma is staring at a spot on the wall trying not to think about the fact that the most beautiful woman in the world is taking her clothes off in the same room right now. She kind of wants to sneak a look. Just quickly, just to see! Regina’s the hottest woman she’s ever met. It’s only natural to wonder what she looks like naked, right? Or in lingerie. Everyone thinks about their hot friend/co-parent/fated enemy in sexy underwear, right? _No, no, no, no, no, no. I’m a terrible person. Shit, think of something unsexy…_ What’s the least sexy thing she can think of? Her parents? Hook? _Ugh, gross, no –_

“ _Emmaaaa_ ,” Regina says, and Emma’s heart vaults into her throat.

“What?” She glances over her shoulder cautiously, and then her heart sinks with relief (and maybe horrible guilty disappointment?) because Regina is wearing pyjamas. They look soft and silky, and the camisole top is edged in lace and one strap is slipping slightly down her tan shoulder. Her hair is all messed up from tugging her sweater over her head, and her feet are bare.

For a second, Emma is struck dumb, unable to cope with just how _cute_ the former evil queen looks. Regina just looks at her and then, without speaking, throws something at her head – Emma catches it and stares down, confused, before her drunken brain clicks. Pyjamas, soft and smelling of lavender and fresh laundry. “Huh?”

“You can’t sleep in your jeans.” Regina tells her solemnly. 

“Thanks,” Emma smiles softly, that fuzzy warm feeling spreading through her stomach and chest again. 

“I’m _tired_.” Regina announces suddenly and drops down onto the bed. 

Emma’s heart leaps at the fact they are suddenly both sat on this bed together, and she can’t help springing to her feet in a slight panic as Regina, oblivious, pulls back the covers and starts climbing in.

“No, wait!” There’s definitely something Emma is trying to remember. Something she should be doing. What was it? “Right! We need to get some painkillers. And some water. For the morning.” 

Regina, half under the covers, gives her a confused and unimpressed stare. 

“Come on Regina, I thought you’d be the sensible one,” Emma remarks. _Huh_. She’s kind of impressed with herself. _She_ remembered something _Regina_ didn’t. 

“Emma!” Regina complains, collapsing down onto the mattress, duvet tangled up around her bare legs. “Where I’m from we didn’t _have_ painkillers or running water. We only had those disgusting herbwater tonics and that stupid physician wouldn’t even give you one unless you were practically dying and –”

“Okay, I get it, Middle Earth was weird.” Emma holds up her hands. “But I’m gonna go and get us some water and some pills in case we wake up with hangovers.” Wait, who was she kidding? “ _When_ we wake up with hangovers. Where are…?”

Regina waves her hand tiredly in the direction of the door, her eyes closed. “Glasses are in the cupboard above the sink. There’s medicine in the drawer… by the table…” She yawns and snuggles down into her pillows, making Emma’s tummy feel funny again. The terrifying, all powerful Evil Queen looks tiny, nestled in her big bed like that, her mess of dark hair spilled across her face.

Emma turns around and stumbles through the bedroom door as quickly as possible. She nearly trips on the stairs but manages to get to the kitchen without any major issues. She fumbles for the light switch then blinks in the sudden, electric glare. _Right. Cupboard above the sink… drawer by the table…_ Emma digs out the box of painkillers and sets about filling glasses with water. 

It’s weird moving around Regina’s house, Regina’s kitchen all by herself. She kind of wants to laugh again – god, maybe she is still a bit drunker than she thought. The rooms are all so big, airy and pretty, like showrooms, but not, because they all smell like Regina and Henry and there are magnets on the fridge holding up shopping lists and Henry’s homework planner and there are photographs on every surface, of a tiny little boy that Emma never got to see in person, that make her heart twist. She thinks she could spend hours just looking round this house, a living museum. 

Being _very_ careful not to spill the water, Emma carries them slowly back up the stairs, down the landing to Regina’s room. When she opens the door, the lights are already off. The bed is just a deeper shadow in the darkness, though a crack between the curtains lets in a hazy wedge of moonlight. She’s not sure if Regina’s actually asleep or not, but she can hear her breathing softly, so she sets one glass of water and the box of pills on the bedside table on her side and carries the other around to hers. 

In the dark, she tugs off her jeans and replaces them with Regina’s pyjamas, which are a bit too small for her but comfy none the less. Eyelids suddenly incredibly heavy, feeling ever so slightly sick, Emma pulls back the covers and slides into the empty side of the bed very carefully, not wanting to wake the brunette up. _God, this bed really is comfy._ Emma sighs as she settles down into impossibly soft sheets that smell slightly like Regina – that smell that she can’t quite identify sometimes, but always makes her heart squeeze. She closes her eyes, the alcohol dragging at her now, ready to pass out –

“Emma?” Regina whispers suddenly.

“Hm?” Emma rolls onto her back beside her, surprised. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Nearly,” Regina shifts slightly. Emma can feel it on her side of the bed. For a while, there’s silence, and then Regina whispers, “Emma, I’m sad.” 

“I know,” Emma whispers back, then cringes, because even with her head heavy and thick with drink, she knows that was kind of a mean thing to say. “I mean, I get it. And I’m sorry. Again.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Regina’s voice is so soft, but almost the only thing that exists in the still, dark room. “Not really.” 

Emma just lays there, listening to her breathing, in and out. _Feeling_ the presence and warmth of her body beside hers, even though they’re not touching, and there’s a good few inches of soft sheets between them. Her tongue feels fat and fuzzy inside her mouth. She doesn’t know what to say. 

“I’m sorry I blamed you.” Regina continues, an edge of hesitation making her voice – still soft and blurry-edged from tiredness and alcohol – almost waver. “It’s just what I do. I have to blame everyone else because otherwise you’d all know – it’s my own fault. It always is. I -”

“Fuck that,” Emma breathes, and shifts slightly to look at Regina in the dark. She can just about make out the outline of her – a curl of her hair, the gentle slope of her shoulder silhouetted against the crack of light. “It’s not. How many times do I have to tell you this tonight? _It’s not your fault_. You deserve better. I don’t get how you can’t see that.”

“So do you,” Regina says stubbornly, and curls herself tighter into the covers. For a while, they just lie there in silence in the dark, breathing slowly, out of time. 

They’re silent for so long Emma’s heavy eyelids fall shut, and though her head spins even with her eyes closed, she feels herself drifting off to sleep. She’s just barely awake when Regina’s soft whisper pulls her right back to consciousness. 

“Thank you.”

“Huh?” Emma blinks a few times. There’s a strange feeling in her chest, heady and heavy. Her fingers, oddly, itch to inch out across that gap between them, to slide across soft sheets and find softer hands. But even drunk, and half asleep, she knows better. 

“Thank you,” Regina whispers again, and Emma feels the mattress shift and the covers crinkle as the brunette rolls onto her side, so she’s facing Emma. In the dark, she’s still just a silhouette, but she can picture the look on her face perfectly. She can feel the warm puffs of her breath on the pillow, almost. “For tonight. For knowing what I needed and… You never push me, Emma. But you always know exactly what to say.”

A slow, sleepy smile curls across Emma’s face, until she’s grinning up at the shadowy ceiling. She’s glad it’s dark, and the other woman can’t see her. Her voice is low and rough with sleep but she manages to mumble a _thanks_ (when really she wants to say, with her chest aching, that she’s just showing some basic human decency, which she suspects Regina should have been shown _so much more of_ in her life, but that she’s not _just_ doing it from a place of impartial goodness. She’s doing it because Regina means more to her than she’d ever let herself admit. Because the thought of her in pain, miserable, _terrifies_ and rocks Emma to the core. Because sometimes at the end of a long day, it’s the memory of _her_ smile that lights her up. Because for some reason she’s drawn to her in ways she can’t even name, beyond even the astronomical love for their son that binds them closer than anyone else.)

“You’re amazing,” Emma hears herself say, slurring her words slightly. “And I’m really fuckin’ proud of you.”

Regina doesn’t say anything, but Emma can feel her looking at her, curled up on her side under the heavy blankets. Can feel those brown eyes on her, can hear her gentle breathing. She smells of her freshly-laundered pyjamas, of perfume, of booze. 

Head fogging up, ready to completely fall into the pit of sleep, Emma lifts the duvet slightly and opens her arms. “C’mon.”

For one, Regina doesn’t protest. Who knows whether it’s the alcohol, the tiredness, or the sudden honesty that neither of them will remember in the morning, but somehow it’s simple for her to shift herself closer, and then closer still. Until she slots into Emma’s open arms like a puzzle piece that had been missing all along. Tentatively, Regina lays one arm gently over Emma’s stomach, rests her head lightly on the blonde’s shoulder. Emma breathes out slowly, slowly - not wanting to disturb the calm and ease that have somehow come over them both, before wrapping her arm around Regina’s body, feeling the warmth of her nestled into her side, the impossible softness of her skin.

Her eyes fall closed. She can feel Regina’s breath against her neck as she nuzzles closer in. And that’s how they fall asleep, together at the end of a very weird fucking day.


End file.
